


Jolly Sailor Bold

by Imperium



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Dark Daenerys Targaryen, Dark Dany, Dubious Consent, F/M, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Political Jon, Political Jon Snow, R Plus L Equals J, Resurrected Dany, Stockholm Syndrome, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 01:42:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19263424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imperium/pseuds/Imperium
Summary: But first, she’d make Lyanna Starkruethe day she decided to run off with Dany’s brother.Or,Dany is back, she's angry - and fucks shit up.





	Jolly Sailor Bold

**Author's Note:**

> If you see Dany as a paragon of virtue, this fic really isn't for you. I'm someone who really enjoys dark characters, and that's how I write her. For the most part, her anger is virtuous and just (at least from her perspective). She's angry with the world, with Jon and their relationship is very far from safe, sane, and consensual, here. It is consensual, for the most part, but definitely not safe and sane.  
> If that puts you away, then, I politely request you to leave.  
> Apart from that, she just blows a lot of shit up. And is an actually competent evil queen.

 

As soon as she got off Drogon, she slapped him in the face. 

Jon's face jerked back with the force of her blow, but he took it stoically. Not even  _ trying  _ to defend himself, just stumbling back a  _ bit _ ; and Dany had thrown her entire back to it.  

Bastard. 

"You  _ killed  _ me" she snarled at him, stalking forward, shoving at his chest - pushing him, pushing him, until he unbalanced and fell on his back before her. 

“You KILLED me” She yelled again, her voice coming out in an undignified shriek, but she hardly cared, her fists clenched by her sides as she towered over him. 

Jon stared at her a bit aghast. Terrified, no doubt  - but quickly pulling himself back together.

He nodded. "Yes!” He gasped, surveying her, scanning her from top to bottom, “Imagine my surprise at your still being alive." his mouth was open, lips parted as he gaped at her; shocked stupid.

She couldn’t even luxuriate in his horror, for his words sent another wave of fury crashing through her, and in spite of herself, she began shaking. 

_ How dare he. How DARE he _ , she reached out to strike him again, when Ghost gave her a warning growl from Jon's side, hackles raised, red eyes glaring dangerously into her. Drogon shifted behind her, leaning forward and immediately roaring back in response, like he had the first time he’d met Jon. She preened as Jon hastily placed a hand on the wolf's head, holding him back. 

_ Everyone  _ knew who had the power here. 

Throwing a look to Drogon first, and then Ghost, he raised his hands as if to placate her. 

_ Yes _ . 

Why was she even surprised?

The moment  _ she  _ got angry, Jon Snow would be all holier-than-thou and tell  _ her  _ what to do. 

As if he wasn’t as unstable as she was. 

She was  _ sick  _ of it.

She glared, as Jon pushed Ghost behind him, drawing back from her. His body stiff and tight, as if he’d run for the hills the moment she turned away. 

He was using himself as a body shield for his wolf! And why would he-,? 

She stared at him stupidly for a moment, before the bitter realization choked her throat, leaving a bad aftertaste of shame and self disgust.

He was  _ afraid  _ of her! 

He’d loved her once. She knew that. But now, he feared her. 

Just like everyone else.

No. No. Not him. 

He’d left her alone. Left her to deal by herself. He didn’t get to fear her. 

And he had-

"You  _ never  _ defended me" she spat, the grief overwhelming her rage for a moment. And he hadn’t. Seated comfortably with all his people as they sang his praises. 

Praises which should have been  _ hers _ . 

Jon unfortunately, seemed to have put himself back together, but smartly remained on the ground, instead of standing up. "I was the only one to defend you" he corrected, dusting his hands off the snow, "I defended you up to the very end. When you and your merry band of war criminals killed, raped and destroyed their way through the city" he said in disgust. 

And, absolutely not. He didn’t get to take the superior position in this. 

"So did yours" she finished for him.

Jon sagged, "So did mine.” and now he looked up, “And they were all  _ punished  _ for it. Not celebrated!!" he exclaimed glaring at her, through those stupidly long eyelashes; an outraged flush in the highpoints of his cheeks.

He had the audacity to be  _ angry  _ with  _ her _ . And look pretty while doing it. 

She hated him.

And really, how self-righteous could he get?

She'd been fighting a  _ war.  _ She wasn't sure her paramour understood the concept. 

She swallowed down the frustration. She wouldn’t slap him again. But she  _ was  _ a dragon. She was done with taking Jon Snow’s annoyingly noble advice that got no one anywhere. 

_ Naive fool. _

He shifted slightly on the ground, moving awkwardly, as though waiting for her to make a move, and when Dany didn’t, he sighed in defeat, giving in first.

"Why are you here?" He questioned. 

He was actually  _ confused _ .

"Maybe I came to kill you," she snapped back, the anger came pounding back into her full force, as if it had never left, and it hadn’t. She could've killed him and not regretted it once. 

Jon looked around himself, raising his hands in gesticulation, as though demanding, 'Why haven't you?' Which was just asking for it really. 

_ Dramatic Little Shit. _

Why couldn’t he just learn to accept some things? She’d almost forgotten how much he struggled with anyone’s authority over him. 

And why wouldn’t he? He’d grown up under Ned Stark’s careful protection, unlike Dany. He’d grown up, so clearly loved and  _ adored  _ by his siblings. He’d joined the Night’s Watch only to have that very same charisma, that had attracted Dany herself, pull people to him. The Lord Commander’s steward, groomed for command at age fourteen and  _ everyone _ had known it. 

As a wildling, he’d bent to none, and never had to again, as Lord Commander and then as King. 

Unlike Dany, who had struggled for everything she got. 

Jon Snow seemed to just accidentally end up doing all the right things. She understood Theon’s frustration now.

"I'll kill you" she promised him. "I'll kill you, and then I'll take back what was mine. The  _ seven  _ kingdoms" 

King of the  _ Six  _ Kingdoms? The Starks! Honestly.

Jon took a deep breath and nodded, a resigned look in his eyes, bracing himself, and closed his eyes. "Get on with it" he murmured, quietly resonant.

She stared at his noble stooped visage, floundering for a moment.

Did he think she wouldn’t go through with it? She immediately shrugged that thought away. No. He knew better than to underestimate her like that, unlike every other man in her life. 

No, he really just wanted to die. 

She shook her head.

So now their holy savior was engaging in elaborate suicide, and using  _ her _ as a medium to it.

After all this time, he was  _ still  _ using her. 

_ ‘Had he ever though?’  _ asked a quiet voice that sounded disarmingly like Dany herself, a few years ago. She ruthlessly squashed her down. That Dany was dead. 

And besides, this was about her “ _ lover _ ”. Who was not even going to attempt to save his own people. 

"Aren't you going to defend your people?" She wondered out loud, trying to hide her genuine curiosity within the taunts.

_ What had happened to him? _

Jon glanced at her, "My  _ People"  _ he emphasized "are free” 

“They can defend themselves"

"Is that why you came to me begging on your  _ knees  _ for help?" She laughed, leaning back against Dragon, amused. 

Jon sat up on the ground, shaking his head in what was almost disappointment. "I was hoping to appeal to your collective humanities to save yourselves" He looked a bit sad, "contrary to what you people may think, I'm not  _ actually  _ your moral salvation" he said, looking genuinely at a loss.

Ever the chivalrous hero. 

She rolled her eyes. 

It was annoying. Especially since she knew he had higher propensity for darkness than any of them, higher than anyone except perhaps for Tyrion. 

She’d never understand why men like Jon Snow sealed and locked away the best parts of themselves. 

If Jon Snow had wanted, she’d have ridden North to fight - no promises, no assurances. Just like Cersei. He had a magnetism to him, a very powerful trait that drew people to him. Made them listen when he spoke. 

And yet, he ran around begging people for help, rather than commanding it, like a dragon would. 

Like a dragon  _ should _ .

And in the end, he’d lost his kingdom to his manipulative siblings. When he could’ve just  _ asked _ ; and he would’ve had it. 

Not like Dany. Not even like Sansa; or even the new king Brandon. 

‘Rhaegar rides again’ they said when they spoke of Jon, as they prayed for the gentle, just King who’d they’d all heard so much about. 

Is that why he hid up here so far beyond the wall? In the lands of always winter? 

Running from his responsibilities? She wished the people could see their precious prince now; renouncing them all. 

And moreover, he seemed to consider the Kingdoms  _ free _ ! Had all the years spent in this freezing wasteland addled his brain? Targaryens  _ were  _ made for fire. Not for ice. 

She sighed. 

"Kingdoms that need assistance and support, cannot be considered free." she explained patiently, leaning forward, and talking to him as if he were a child. 

Jon however, was having none of it. 

He pulled back, staring at her open-mouthed, "You cannot seriously believe that" he said, sounding completely appalled, gesticulating with his hands, as though to emphasise his words.

Like  _ she  _ was the unreasonable one here.

"Why not?" She snapped, finally losing her cool with him. He had needed  _ her  _ help,  _ her  _ dragons and  _ her  _ men, and then his  _ sister  _ had had the audacity to call her country  _ independent _ . 

Jon rubbed his head, looking skyward as though begging for absolution. Brushing a strand of stray hair from his face, he turned around to face her, "I know you've never heard of this," he paused, condescendingly, "but sometimes, many kingdoms decide to come together to deal with problems they may not be able to solve individually. Kingdoms also come to the rescue of other kingdoms when one is under duress." He glared at her icily, "this is called an alliance."

"I know what an alliance is" she growled out, rounding on his prone form.

Jon rolled his eyes at her. "You really don’t" he retorted, looking up at her.

"Yara Greyjoy-" she began, only to be cut off.

"Was abandoned by you to Euron's forces. If not for what I said to Theon, she'd probably still be there, or dead" he finished bitterly. 

She gaped at him.

“I rode North for your Kingdom!” she exclaimed. 

“You rode North for  _ your  _ people” he cried out, frustrated. 

“You, Cersei, - None of you get it do you?” he said desperately, “this wasn’t just about the North! This was about  _ all  _ of us” making an all encompassing gesture.

He stopped as though hoping the naive entreaty was something  _ she  _ needed to understand.

He would always be stupidly innocent. Always absolutely trusting. 

It was one of the reasons why she had fallen in lo-, she halted that train of thought right there. 

Pulling herself back together to counter him, she said: "You bent the knee to  _ me, _ " a note of finality in her voice. And he had. If she’d been so monstrous, why had he bent the knee to her?

Jon hung his head, ashamed; 

'Of his act? Or of his trust?' She wondered, abstractly. 

Jon Snow nodded slowly, haltingly; as though she’d drained him inside out.

"Yes.  _ I bent the knee to you _ ." He agreed, standing up, his limbs heavy and exhausted, ignoring Drogon’s threatening growl. 

“I hoped,-” he began, but halted, his eyes sliding from her face to her chest, Dany’s heart immediately twinged, like he’d just stabbed her for the first time, and it wasn’t something that happened months ago, "I suppose we were both wrong to do that" 

After that entirely unfulfilling and incomplete conversation, the man she’d hoped to one day wed, walked into his hut - leaving her out in the cold.

__________

 

Living with Jon Snow was a novel feeling. She hadn’t even  _ begun  _ to forgive him, but he was her only anchor in the storm. 

After their fight, she’d followed him inside, stomping after him. The hut was small, modest. The furnishing was sparse, the cold penetrating and chilling. She’d shivered, rubbing her arms in fast angry motions, trying to flush the heat back into her flesh.

She  _ refused  _ to show vulnerability before him, she  _ refused  _ to ask him for help.

But she needn’t have tried. Jon Snow had walked to her and wrapped a thick heavy black cloak around her shoulders. 

It smelled like him. Like the warm hearth and Winter roses. Despite herself, she cuddled into it. 

That was all the mutual acknowledgement they had. 

He left with Ghost to hunt every morning, but she didn’t eat the food he offered her. 

Drogon was perfectly capable of acquiring food for them both.

At night, they shared furs as there weren’t enough. It was then, that she’d watch silently as he twisted and moaned, living in his nightmares, not moving to help. 

Sometimes, he’d sleep peacefully, and Dany would lay beside him, almost daring to talk to him, when she was sure that he was so far under that he wouldn’t hear her. Other times, she’d watch the flames from the fireplace flicker and shadow in his face, and she’d ache, for he was still as he’d always been - virtuous, and untouched. 

The grime inside of her could hardly hold a candle to his unbridled purity. She’d slide closer in her guilt, lay long curling fingers on his scarred chest, kissing the bared wound, it still seared and burned like a live hot thing. 

He’d twist away with a wince, and she’d let him. Content in watching him sleep.

He’d often whisper her name. ‘Dany’ he’d call her softly, vulnerable and aching. 

‘Dany’ he’d sob, terrible and contrite. ‘Dany’ he’d moan as she traced her fingers through his lovely body.

He still loved her. 

But it wasn’t enough. 

\-----

 

Kinvara had resurrected her.

The woman’s grief and pained eyes were the first thing she'd seen on rebirth. 

‘I did it for I feared the Dragon’ she said before Dany could thank her. ‘Mhysa’ Dany may have been once, but they just called her ‘Wrath Reborn’, now. 

She’d stayed in the temple for months. Recuperating. The wound in her heart  _ ached _ . 

She’d woken up vengeance burning in her newly beating heart, wanted to kill and destroy as she saw fit, deliver divine retribution for her loses, but the terrified faces of those who’d once adored her made her stop. 

She couldn’t. Not yet. 

She needed  _ time _ . 

She needed to get back to being herself again. Her best self.

She’d limped outside the temple one morning for water. People avoided her on sight, scuttling around and pretending not to see her. Heads low and shoulders down. 

“I did what I had to do” she wanted to scream. ‘Why did no one understand?’ she’d been desperate, and had  _ needed  _ the men to take her seriously.

She’d lost everything. Sacrificed  _ everything _ . 

Didn’t they understand that they were alive  _ because  _ of her? If she’d never ridden North, every man, woman and babe who saw fit to treat her like dirt would be dirt themselves. 

But they wouldn’t understand that. 

They hadn’t felt the chilling touch of the Night King’s power. They hadn’t seen what she’d seen.

‘So many are dead because of you too’ said the persistently and gradually louder voice that now chose to sound like Missandei instead of herself. She ignored the voices. As if everyone thinking her mad wouldn’t suffice, she now had voices in her head. 

She’d walked out, her swollen feet dragging on the floor, her heart hurting. 

They glared at her, many saw her and covered their mouths, choking off sobs; terrified, grief struck and lost. It burnt her skin, burnt her for the first time, way more than Jon Snow’s blade ever could.

_ ‘What have you done? What have you done?’ _

She finally decided to leave, rather than force upon her hosts the frightening task of making her.

No guest was to stay uninvited. 

She’d packed her meager belongings, and whatever necessities Kinvara could muster up for her, with a guilty look. The woman was guilty now, now, that her treatment had made Dany want to leave. 

Apparently, she wasn’t guilty enough to ask Dany to stay, as she immediately backed away and ran off into the temple. 

Dany had wearily climbed Drogon, body shaking in exhaustion and held onto his back.

\---------

 

Living with Jon Snow had its own kind of challenges. 

He got annoyed easily. Dany wasn’t some child to be cowed, or one of the various people who sought absolution in his company.

And Jon wasn’t one of her followers to bend down and assent to her whims either. 

They were both people used to things going the way they ordained it. 

And neither the type to accept assistance from anybody else. 

\---------

 

Jon was sitting by the fire. He had a thin towel protecting his modesty, hair wet with water from his bath.

The first time he’d brought a tub in and climbed inside, he’d turned around - expecting Dany, like she was some meek woman to be browbeat into silence, to leave. When she hadn’t moved, or turned away, he had huffed - taking his clothes off in angry jerky motions, climbing into the bath. 

“Will I ever be rid of your company?” he’d asked her then quietly, body glistening with water, painfully beautiful despite, or maybe even because of his scars. 

She hadn’t responded then. 

He’d gotten more used to her company now. 

She walked forward, pushing the towel away and crawling into his lap. 

His hands automatically slid around her waist to balance her.

She was completely clothed, and he, completely bare. The chill pebbled his skin, and Dany felt drunk on power. 

She could hurt him now, if she wanted. 

He’d  _ let  _ her.

She reached back, rolling the burning logs of the fireplace in her hand. The heat felt warm, pleasant. Pulling her hand back out, she held it behind her - it steamed in the cold.

She carefully brought it forward, curling her hand like a vise around his waist.

She kissed him when he cried out in pain, pulling the hand back - her dainty fingers branded, like a mark of ownership on his skin. 

She didn’t think he’d mind. It was just a few more to add to his collection.

‘This is what it is, to be a dragon’ she wanted to tell him.

But there was no point. He’d never listen. 

Pressing the brand back in, she pushed him to the ground, climbing on top of him, laying soft feathery kisses around his face. 

She then bent down, her hair cascading over her shoulder, nibbling his lips. Pulling the plush warm flesh in between her own, kissing and then pulling back. Kissing, and then pulling back. 

And again.

He moaned throatily into her mouth, and gasped as she slid lower leaving warm open mouthed kisses down his body and sharp bruising bites as she so desired.

She tongued his nipple, pulling the pebbled nub into her mouth, leaving tiny bites and kitten licks. 

He moaned and gasped,  _ writhed  _ under her, but she held him down, easily. 

The only pleasure he'd have is what she  _ let _ him have. 

She was never letting  _ anyone  _ have anything more than that ever again.

No one. Least of all him. 

She slid lower, mouth open, warming his frozen skin with her own tender heat. She paused by the brand on his waist, carefully licking the blood next to it. 

Rolling the drops in her tongue, feeling them turn red. 

Jon looked up at her, and moaned - completely wrecked at the sight of her. His body glistened with sweat and remnant water droplets clinging to his skin. 

He was  _ so  _ lovely. 

She sighed. 

Bending down between his legs, she pushed them apart, kissing the tip of his cock, softly stroking it, only with the tip of her fingers. 

Not even close to giving him the relief he sought after. 

She could wait.

He would beg.

It hardly took long. For all his larger than life personality, Jon Snow had had only one woman before her. And he'd been a child then.

Now he was a man grown. And he hadn't had Dothraki handmaidens to teach him the art of pleasure.

Dany was just fine with that. She'd teach it all to him herself. 

She took his cock in her hand, the warm pulsing  _ weight  _ of it, hot and firm in her hand, and rose up. Pulling her skirts up, and above her waist. 

She rubbed his cock between her folds. Still teasing. Giving him a taste, but never taking him in. 

He squirmed and gasped beneath her, moaning and reaching out for her, as she  _ danced _ , danced around, just far enough away from his grip. When he finally realised they were doing this  _ her  _ way, he slackened, eyes closed, throat bare, surrendering himself to her, as though he'd reached a new level of transcendence where all he knew was her.

Splayed open to her, thoroughly and utterly trusting - he was the most beautiful thing she’d  _ ever  _ seen. She gasped involuntarily, he took her  _ breath  _ away. 

She struggled, hastily spread her legs wider, and lowered herself down gently. All the way down, before he had  _ any  _ time to react, and kissed him. 

Kissed him, kissed him and  _ worshiped  _ him, until he came with a choked off moan of her name, not managing to get beyond 'Da'. 

Too out of it.

And  _ she'd  _ given that to him. Taken him to the place where all he knew was pleasure and nothing else. 

She moved downward experimentally, and he gasped, back bending in a near perfect arch as his cock stirred its interest within her. 

She smiled in indulgence. 

Indulgence was all Jon and Dany had the time for now, and they could indulge wherever and however they wanted. 

No one to stop them. She lowered her head and he reached up toward her. 

Hours later, she curled up against his chest, comfortable and cosy. “I Love You” he murmured into her hair, half asleep, blissfully sated.  

She crushed her traitorous heart for the tears that stung her eyes.

\--------- 

 

The next morning, she took Drogon and left.

She'd seriously considered picking up all his things as he slept and throwing it into the Sea on her way, but she couldn't bring herself to.

This was exactly  _ why  _ she needed to leave. 

She'd taken off, soaring beyond the wall, beyond Winterfell, down - back to the ever beautiful land of the Lions. 

Crouched in a cave, she'd surveyed Casterly Rock. She may have even eventually forgiven Jon for what he did; her lover, for all his flaws, was painfully guileless. 

He'd killed her. But he hadn't done it for himself.  _ That  _ she knew. 

Tyrion, on the other hand;

She wouldn't kill him. Death too easy a mercy. 

Patience was a lesson she'd learnt the hard way. 

Dany could  _ wait.  _

So she did. She waited as she observed the comings and goings of the townspeople.

She monitored the movements of the guards. 

She wouldn't kill Tyrion. But she  _ would  _ destroy his precious rock. 

The rock he'd wanted his whole life. 

He wouldn't have it. Not for as long as Dany drew breath. 

That night, she curled up next to Drogon, the space next to her bed felt too wide without Jon. 

It was too silent without his quiet steady breathing.

'Would he forgive her this?' She wondered. 

It didn't really matter of course. She was too far beyond caring.

The sun shone bright in the sky when she blinded the townspeople of the Rock. 

The scorpions that turned to face her too slow. Too outdated. She swooped in, toppling the beautiful castles. Bringing down the mighty strongholds. 

None of Tywin Lannister's ingenuity could hold a candle against  _ her.  _

The screams were music, the voices in her head - silent. 

_ For once _ .

She pulled back when the castles fell. 

They'd eventually rebuild, she knew. But the crown certainly couldn't afford it.

Not yet, at least.

Tyrion only had a burnt down husk to call his castle.

None of the Lannister soldiers would dare to stay. Dare to watch her leave. 

She laughed uproariously atop Drogon. Flinging her long hair behind her back as it whipped into her face.

"Elia Martell sends her regards" she screamed out at the fleeing Lannisters, before turning back. 

Her work here was done. 

 

\-----

On her way back, she decided spontaneously take a  pit-stop in Winterfell. There was nothing quite  _ like  _ frightening some Northerners. 

She landed on the parapets, and Drogon roared, the angry reverberating sound that seemed to come from the depths of Valyria itself.  _ This  _ was what Drogon used when he was angry.  _ This  _ was what he used to impress upon just how  _ much  _ of a threat he was.

He wasn’t some big giant forgettable lizard. 

He was a  _ dragon _ . And so was she.

The Northerners screamed, scrambling around; praying to their queer gods for help. People poured out of the castle like bugs. So  _ desperate _ , so completely and absolutely terrified. 

She spotted the Knights of the Vale, and the Lords Manderly and Glover right up front.

Hadn’t they betrayed Jon?

_ 'Do I burn them for that? Or do I not?'  _ She wondered.

And finally!

_ They  _ came out. 

The Stark sisters. Funny. She'd heard the younger girl had run off somewhere West. 

They stared at her in unabashed terror, and no. Not terror for themselves. 

This was lovely. 

"I know where he is" she called out to them both, Arya's hand immediately reached for her blade in impotent fury.

The people in the yard shifted. 

Angry and terrified for him, but powerless to do anything about it.

It was a powerful rush of euphoria. But she didn't care for the sheep.

"I know where he is Sansa" she called out, and the wolf queen snarled. 

"I know where he is. And he is mine" 

_____

 

The wind played games with her, as she flew beyond the wall. The clouds tickling her, the bright glorious sun, tantalizingly close. The Haunted Forest receded like a bad memory, and finally, the fist of the First Men. Beyond, she finally saw their hut.

It was small. Almost inconsequential. 

Not worth a second glance and hardly visible if not for the smoke rising from that general direction; and yet. It housed the last two people in the world with Valyrian blood singing in their veins. And If Rhaegal hadn’t died, He’d have been right up here with her.

She steered Drogon forward, and he followed her lead, as always.

He was waiting when she came, scanning the sky, worried.

‘Was he worried  _ for  _ her?’ She wondered. ‘Or was he worried for what she’d done?’

Drogon flew, large wings flapping powerfully at her sides, gradually slowing before landing with a deep  _ thump _ ! the ground shaking as he hooked his wings to it. Jon looked up, hair flying, his eyes, even from this distance, glistening. 

He ran forward when she dismounted. 

Carefully pulling her into his arms. 

“I woke up, and you weren’t here” he mouthed into her shoulder. His hands firmly around her hips, head buried in her shoulder. She clasped him back to her, pulling him close. After the dreaded wars, this was worth flying all the way back to the North. 

In her comfort, it took her a while to realize he was shaking, trembling in her arms, he was practically  _ gasping  _ for breath - like in the brief interlude in which she’d been gone, he’d forgotten how to breathe. 

She felt confused, and then, it hit her. His Nightmares! He’d often dreamt of her death, Dany knew that. 

Se shifted in self-doubt. This was new territory. But first! She discreetly checked him for weapons, a quick scan found him in nothing but a leather jerkin and some loose trousers. She relaxed.

And now, back to her lover. She stroked his back in circles, worriedly. How was she to console him?

There would be no consoling once he heard what she’d done. And she’d rather tell him herself than watch him being misled by others. 

She considered telling him where she’d been immediately, but finally disregarded it. He was too fragile to take anything now anyway.

She carefully raised a hand, and ran it through the soft loose curls. “I’m back now” she placated, and when he didn’t cease his shaking, “I’m back now” she repeated, more gently. 

He nodded his head, but didn’t let her go.

_____

 

After that embarrassing event, she was more careful around him. 

Ignoring him to the best of her ability, but not able to resist kissing him, and  _ loving  _ him every now and then all the same. 

Had anyone ever loved him the way she had?

She sincerely doubted it.

Targaryens were made for each other.

Normal humans, as lovely and important as they were - couldn’t hope to understand Gods.  

Jon, however, still snarled at her, seeming to have gotten his strength back after the few days of terror.

Now, he seemed just as determined as she was, to not acknowledge her existence, and as irritated as she was by that, it gave her some time to recuperate and rest too. 

She had fought a  _ war _ , and she was tired. She had more important things to worry about than Jon Snow having his thousandth collapse of the month.

The little stream where she bathed tickled her toes. Wrapping a heavy robe around herself, she started back to the hut. 

Jon stood inside, back to her. Parchment clasped in his hand.  Fists gritted. 

She froze in horror on the entrance. 

Fuck! She should’ve told him right then. Her care for him always seemed to lead her to make all the wrong choices.

“I never should have trusted you” he said quietly, and then just to dig the wound in a little bit sharper, he furthered, “I don’t think I ever  _ really  _ did, but even what I did give you, I shouldn't have”

She blanked out her face, trying to mask the sharp tidal wave of hurt. 

He had never trusted her? He  _ had  _ taken her to bed. But then again, so had  _ she _ .

Is that how Jon Snow saw her?  Like she saw Daario? The bottom dropped out of her stomach. 

She felt like a fool.

Daario was no hero. 

Jon Snow was; and that would always be more important to Jon than anything else. 

“The Kingdoms are unstable,” she informed him, trying to regain her footing, had his precious sisters told him off that? All his efforts had been completely pointless. The moment he had left, Dorne and the Iron Isles had declared independence, and there was nothing  _ ‘The Broken’  _ could do about it.

He nodded, still turned away from her “As expected,” he murmured, studying the parchment; as if trying to glean some information from it that was definitely not there.

Sansa weighed her words in gold. Dany had  _ always  _ known that.

He turned around and faced her, eyes anguished, “Do you think the people  of Westeros would just accept someone they’ve never known as King?” 

“Of course I knew!” he stopped, shoulders sagging, gently rubbing the parchment “I just, hoped-” he sighed. “I’m a fool”

Dany shook her head, she  _ agreed  _ with him, but didn’t want to tell him that. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now,” she said, softly. No Targaryen would ever seat the throne again. 

Not as long as he was who he was. 

And suddenly, she knew what she needed to do. 

She looked at him, standing resolute before her, “No.” he said, agreeing for once. “It doesn’t matter now” 

He was pale, wan and drawn. 

The Last Dragon sitting lonely and sad, like a farmer herding sheep, instead of the Dragon, or even the Wolf that he was.

This was mercy.

He had to let her in. He  _ had  _ to let her help him, but before her more rational brain could speak for her, her emotions won out. 

“You single-handedly destroyed our house,” she said unable to choke down the revulsion. 

He was talking to her now, and she wanted to get everything out right then. 

He nods aggrieved. “I did,” he said, head hung, voice throaty and choked. 

“If not for you, my brother would  _ never  _ have done what he did,” she continued, stalking forward, jabbing her finger onto his chest, her anger, rage and grief - streaming out, with all the potency she could muster.

He sagged, his hands trembling. 

She  _ ached _ . 

“You could’ve prevented the slaughter of thousands” she choked, she was crying, she realized in horror. 

He was shaking. And Oh! By the Gods! He was crying too. The realization made her feel less like a blubbering idiot. She stumbled forward, clasping him as his knees buckled. 

“I hate you” she whispered, as she held him in her arms. Both of them crying and hugging in the snow. Her knees getting steadily wet. 

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate-” she moaned into him, grabbing his throat pulling his mouth to hers, and kissing him.

Kissing him, and hating him, and  _ owning  _ him.

She stroked his face, the gentle slope of his spine, the raven ringlets, and-

He suddenly froze, looking down in shock and then up at her. 

“I hate you” she sobbed. “I hate you so much” 

His eyes softened in understanding as he slackened in her arms, hot hot blood pumping into Dany’s palms. 

He looked up at her, his sweet lips bloody. 

He almost looked grateful, and she  _ knew  _ she’d done him right.

If only he had  _ listened  _ to her. She’d have kept him safe. None would have dared exile him in  _ her  _ presence.

But it was too late now. 

His lovely eyes lightened, the precious body went slack as he slid in her arms. 

It didn’t matter; nothing mattered anymore. 

The wound in her chest ached. 

He’d killed her. It hadn’t mattered to  _ him  _ then! Why should she be the only one to care?

She took one of his hands into her own bloodstained ones, “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you” she chanted feverishly, holding onto his body. 

Ghost’s howls sounded in the distance, as Drogon kept him away from them both.

“I hate you” she repeated one final time, as he lay limp in her arms. 

_ I hate you.  _

_ And I love you.  _

  
  
  
  



End file.
